


Idealized

by Scavenger98



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Original Character-centric, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5001700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scavenger98/pseuds/Scavenger98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi is tired, and not prepared to deal with a time-traveler, Charles is displaced with no way home, Eren wishes the world would give him a break already, and Hanji's just happy that something interesting is going on. Started as a deconstruction of Offspring-Sues, then took on a life of its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hate Sues. You hate Sues. One of the most common ways such a thing comes into existence is by way of an author’s OTP procreating, but in a world as dark as SNK, the ridiculousness of that offspring is even more out of place. That was the spark for this story, and at first it was going to be a crack one-shot. That’s… not the route it took me on. Enjoy!

Levi is pulled from the inky, featureless depths of a perfect unconsciousness at about midnight, awakening to a loud banging sound and a deep desire to return whence he came. Unfortunately, years of self-training and horrible danger have made a light sleeper of him and he has no way of stopping the noise without getting out of bed, which will of course make it impossible to fall asleep again for at least a few hours. Freshly pissed off and not even out from his covers yet; it has to be a new record.

            Sliding his feet sideways onto the floorboards, he gets up and walks somewhat briskly to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open only to come face to face with the absolutely ecstatic visage of Hanji. He restrains himself from punching her in the face, but the sheer excitement there isn’t helping the cause.

They’d both gotten back from the Maria territory and _yet another_ extermination mission just before dark the day before, at which point he’d washed himself and gone to bed. Judging from her smell, she didn’t do the same. How she’s any less tired than him is beyond all the logic he possesses, but he’s learned to disregard such things when it comes to her behavior. Hanji is Hanji, but that doesn’t stop him from getting irritated.

            “You have ten fucking seconds to tell me what you’re so fucking happy about, and if you can’t catch my interest in that time, I’m slamming this door in your face and going the fuck back to sleep.” Her smile doesn’t slip a centimeter, and it makes him want to kill something.

            “The MP’s broke up a tavern brawl barely an hour ago. Nothing especially interesting except that one of the people involved lost a finger.”

_‘Oh for fucks sake._ ’ He doesn’t care that she seems weirdly excited about something neither of them has any reason to be especially interested in. Levi’s eyes narrow further and without another moment’s thought his arm pulls across, slamming his door closed. He’s already halfway back across the room to his bed when he hears more words, muffled by the door, but completely understandable.

            “It started growing back on the spot, with steam and everything!” He stops short, very nearly mid-step in fact. He almost sighs, but by that point he’s just awake enough to control the impulse. _‘It’s never going to fucking stop, is it?’_ And finally, shaking away the last dregs of blessed darkness, he is a soldier again. He has a job to do, and he’s damn well going to do it.

            Of course, no one ever said he had to be civil about it.

 

-B-

 

Charles wants to know why everything is so wrong.

            Thanks to a very disgruntled stranger, he knows where he is: Stohess, year 850. He’s been here for just under a day now, and in that time has come to the conclusion that he’s either insane or completely screwed, possibly both. If his math is correct (and he takes some pride in the fact that it always is) his parents are barely 15, only recently graduated from training.

            He isn’t born yet and won’t be for over a decade. _‘All wrong, so wrong, what the fuck?’_

            “Oy! Shut up in there!” The guard is wearing the insignia of the Military Police. He’s a bit taller than Charles, but doesn’t look much older, perhaps a year or two; blue eyes, dark brown hair bordering on black, strong jaw. He’s remarkably good-looking, really.

            _‘He’s also perfectly capable of killing you if you piss him off. Let’s avoid that.’_ His mother is, as always, his voice of reason. He finds it easier to frame thoughts in her usual dry tone; somehow the ideas flow more readily.

            _‘Keep your focus. Lose that and you lose everything else.’_ He inhales deeply, the way they taught him. He feels the pulse and flow of all the substances in his body, the pressures coming and going. The thumping behind his ribs slows and he expands his lungs to their full capacity before letting out the result with a quiet sigh. Finally, with everything back under control, he reopens his eyes.

His hands are tied in front of him with a thick length of rope, and he’s sitting on the floor of a prison cell. By his estimation, it’s about three meters by three by four. It might be cramped with a few more people, but he has this one to himself. His fellow arrestees are shoved rather unceremoniously into another to his left.

            The entire cell excepting the stone-bricked back wall is made up of metal bars, iron judging by the incremental rust on them. He’s sitting on a stone bench running along those same bricks. They cleared out his pockets and took his ring when they brought him in; yet another thing that sets him apart from the others. They know something about his abilities, but not everything, otherwise he’d be gagged and chained to the wall.

            The city outside is a recovering wreck, like a coat that’s become more holes and patches than original fabric. Everywhere he’s gone in the last few hours has been at least touched by some sort of prior destruction. When he’d asked a woman what had happened, she’d given him a strange, empty look, muttered something about judgment and walked off. It doesn’t make sense; he knows he can’t be in Stohess. His parents never told him about anything like this happening.

            And yet he’s here and it clearly did.

            Footsteps bring him back from a return to the brink of panic and he focuses on wondering who or what is coming. More arrests, or maybe a superior coming to examine him? Two people round the corner and the world gets even weirder.

            Charles recognizes Levi immediately; though he notices belatedly that the man’s hair is a shade or two darker than he remembers, his skin completely devoid of imperfections. Hanji takes a moment longer; age was evidently less kind to her than her colleague; she’s without significant wrinkles and a few inches taller. He tries his best not to stare at her perfectly intact left ear, but it’s a losing battle. There’s a glint of metal and his eyes focus momentarily on the key that the guards hand to Levi. They leave, and it’s just the three of them, plus the mostly passed-out bar-patrons in the next cell over. He notices offhandedly that the angry guard from before looks as good from behind as he does in front. _‘Pity about his personality.’_

            “Alright, brat. I am in a very bad mood, so when I start asking questions, you’re gonna give me some fucking answers, or limbs start falling off.” Levi has threatened him before. Levi threatens everybody; it’s just how he interacts. But as he makes the mistake of meeting the diminutive man’s black-bagged eyes, Charles realizes that this is not a threat; it is a promise. Rather abruptly, he becomes intensely aware of the pulse across his right shoulder, all along the arm to his fragile, skinny fingers. He looks instead at Hanji’s dark irises and is relieved to find the same mischievous twinkle that she would carry into her later years.

“What’s your name?” He almost jumps at the sudden query, pulling back from one bit of contemplation and into another. Should he tell them the truth? For all he knows, they might kill him on the spot. He has no idea what sort of position his father has at this point, and if they decide he’s a threat…

            _‘A lie is best sold when mixed with truth.’_ She told him that after she caught him with dad’s favorite shirt, shredded in a disastrous attempt to decorate it. The comparison brings some levity back to his mind, and he relaxes, if only a little. Really, he doesn’t need to lie at all.

            “Charles.” He stands and meets the man’s eyes. _‘Intrigue them. Make them interested, but don’t overplay yourself.’_ He applies his most nonchalant, disinterested face, though he knows he never quite mastered the art. Neither had dad, as mom constantly reminded the both of them.

“I guess you’re the famous Levi Ackerman.” He makes a show of looking the man up and down, raising an eyebrow as he goes just to further sell the display. “You’re shorter than your reputation.”

            He barely wastes a second to watch Levi’s incredulous glare develop before turning to his other visitor, smiling. “And you must be Hanji Zoe!” She doesn’t quite beam back at him, but she certainly perks up. _‘Do people not recognize her?’_

            “Stop flattering us, brat, it just makes you look like an ass. Let’s see your hands.” He blinks for a second, unsure until he realizes why members of the Survey Corp are there.

_‘Then the coup’s already happened.’_ He does as he’s told, holding up the complete, unblemished skin of his palms and fingers, splayed to either side of his bound wrists. Hanji looks ready to squeal.

            “Levi, do you really think it’s, uh, prudent to question him here?” She nods surreptitiously at the crowded cell next door. She’s clearly trying to seem serious, but a grin keeps worming its way onto her face. “Maybe we should take him back to the HQ, so we can… interrogate him more freely?” She’s almost leering now and Charles wonders if more than just her looks had mellowed with age.

            It’s begrudging, but as he looks at the group of slowly recovering drunks to his right, Levi nods. His glare returns full force to his newest problem and the boy wilts a bit. “Alright, shitty glasses. Go ahead and get the troops mobilized. No chances.” She nods and bolts. Not five minutes later, the door unlocks and, pushed ahead at sword-point like the captive he realizes he is, Charles walks out into the last rays of the half moon.

 

-B-

 

            Eren doesn’t know why they’re going down to the dungeons; there isn’t anything of interest there. Well, mostly nothing, but Annie hasn’t moved once since she crystalized, and staring at a motionless body loses its appeal after a few days.

            Levi is just as silent as usual, if not more so. He hasn’t said much except “Come with me,” and doesn’t seem about to explain beyond “He asked to see you,” whoever “he” is. Erwin is similarly silent. Strangely enough, there’s no sign of Hanji.

            A legionnaire pulls the heavy door aside and they descend the stairs to the lower level, where he was kept before the trial. He doesn’t like it down here. He doesn’t know if it’s a side effect of his powers, or just that ever-persistent urge for freedom, but the windowless walls, and tight corridors don’t sit well in his gut.

            The blazing torches cast menacing patterns of light on the stones and he is reminded just how strange it was to wake up down here. It makes him feel a bit sorry for whatever poor bastard they’re going to meet.

            Hanji’s excited chattering voice echoes into his ears and the feeling only intensifies.

            They turn a corner, coming abruptly to the cell, and find Hanji talking animatedly to a restrained boy who looks a bit older than Eren is. He has medium-length dirty blonde hair, and a face that manages to be both long and round. It’s difficult to tell with the sitting position he is restrained in, but he seems to be of middling height, perhaps a bit shorter than average. The moment he comes into view, his gaze snaps to Eren and Hanji stops mid-sentence. It’s difficult to tell what color his eyes are between the glinting torchlight and surrounding shadows.

            “He’s here, now start talking.” Levi’s voice is abrasive and cold as it bounces down the hall, magnified in the unnatural underground silence.

The kid swallows awkwardly, and Eren thinks momentarily that until this moment, he had forgotten how stuffy it could get down in the cells with no ventilation, and blazing torches everywhere. “I was, uh, hoping that maybe I could talk to him alone.”

Erwin waved the comment aside, shaking his head. “That’s not possible. You’ll have to speak with all of us.”

“Alright. But I’ll warn you that everything I’m about to tell you is going to sound absolutely insane.” Levi is tapping his foot now. Things might get dangerous if this idiot doesn’t start getting to the point.

            “My full name is Charles Yeager.” Eren almost thinks he can hear the loud ringing of warning bells. He knows from his father’s memories that he hadn’t had any living relatives, and their name isn’t exactly common. “I grew up in a small town, you’ve probably never heard of it. I found out about my abilities when I was five; cut my finger off playing with a kitchen knife. Five minutes later, it was back like nothing ever happened.”

            “And your parents were okay with that?” Hanji seems more excited than concerned.

The kid gave an affirmative sort of shrug as if it were the most natural thing possible, smiling nostalgically. “They’d been expecting it, honestly. After all, I got the power from them.”

            “And who were they, then?” Hanji’s head is cocked to the side in that strange, almost serious fashion, and Eren for the life of him, can’t fathom why this kid keeps glancing in his direction like a lost puppy.

“They were titan shifters, heroes.”

            “And I’m sure that they shitted gold and pissed rainbows too. Who the fuck were they?”  The kid is staring down at his lap, rubbing his hands on his knees.

“Well, it’s like I told you, you’re going to think I’m crazy.” Levi takes a single measured step toward the cell, eyes shadowed by his hair.

“If you dance around the question one more fucking time…” Erwin’s hand comes down firmly on his shoulder and he meets the prisoner’s wavering gaze.

“I think we would appreciate names, if you don’t mind.”  Charles nods slowly and sighs.

“Right… My parents were Eren Yeager and Annie Leonhardt.”

            For a moment, the only sounds are the torches crackling, as Eren’s mind struggles to catch up to this most insane of statements. He steps forward, hands clenching into fists, teeth gritting. “Bullshit.” It’s little more than a whisper, but it fills the space just as greatly as the shout it precedes.

            “That’s bullshit!” Eren’s entire world has narrowed down to this one ridiculous lie, and so consumed is he that he doesn’t see Levi’s gaze flitting between him and Charles. He doesn’t hear Hanji muttering thoughts under her breath, eyes wide behind her glasses. He doesn’t feel the incredulous force of Erwin’s raised eyebrow, or the man’s hand on is shoulder.

            “You’re insane!” And he must be, because how could such a thing be true? “You’re the same age as me, older even! How could I be your father, let alone… her?”

The blonde teen responds with a firm voice; the sort of tone that people listen to. “You tell me. Your guess is as good as mine.”

            And he sees it: the sardonic tightening of the eyebrows, slightly downturned mouth, somehow looking down on you from below. It’s different, but the same. It’s _her_.

            He wants desperately to yell again, maybe punch something, but he can’t think of anything more to say, and the most convenient target is his commander, so instead, he shakes off the man’s hand, turns, and stalks off around the bend. Whoever this kid is, Eren can’t stand to look at him anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

            Lunch, or any meal in the Scouting Legion, can be considered something of a philosophical affair. It signifies that you have made it to another waypoint; survived the horrors that might have taken your life throughout this particular interval. At least, it might if you think too hard, which most members try to avoid. Eren’s thoughts, and those of his superiors, are elsewhere. For one thing, they aren’t in the Mess Hall.

            “He does bear a certain… resemblance to both of them.”

Levi shrugs and swallows his latest sip of calming tea before giving Hanji a response. “That doesn’t prove anything. All we have to go on is his word, and there are a few things he very conveniently has no clue about.”

            “But just as conveniently, he knows others.” Erwin’s arm is planted elbow-first on his desk, his hand held up. If he still had another, he might have been interlacing his fingers. “To our knowledge, nobody outside of the 104th knew of the connection between Eren and the Female type. Nobody inside the Walls beyond a few members the Legion and the other division heads know of her identity. If he _is_ a spy, then he’s a rather sloppy one.”

            “Maybe that’s just what he wants us to think. He’s definitely a shifter, yet he came along willingly and volunteered information, which goes against everything we’ve seen of them so far. For all we know, his Titan form might have some means of climbing over the wall undetected.” Hanji delivers the hypothesis with her usual air, but the look in her eyes is serious.

Levi swallows another sip. “That seems overly complicated, especially for someone claiming to be Eren’s brat.”

“He’s not my son.” Eren speaks for the first time since he stormed out of the dungeons and it’s just a bit louder than necessary in the small room. “There’s no goddamn way.”

            Hanji’s eyebrows are lowered thoughtfully, her arms crossed in front of her. “It does seem highly unlikely, but at the same time, to craft such a crazy story and tell it with that straight a face, he’s either a ridiculously accomplished liar or completely insane. Considering who he says his mother is…”

            Eren’s voice rises a bit more. “How can you even consider this shit? Time travelers? He doesn’t even know how he got here! It’s fucking ridiculous!” Levi cuts across the developing rant with his usual grace and tact.

“Eren, I have a fucking headache. If you’re going to have a conniption, do it outside with the other brats.” The boy fumes silently, but knows better than to argue with his commanding officer. For all that Levi regrets having to beat him in the courtroom, he isn’t above using the memory as leverage.

            Hanji coughs awkwardly into her fist and gives Erwin a wide, plastered grin. “Well, if nobody has any major objections, I’ll go and look through some of the books we liberated from the royal library. It’s a stretch, but there might be some information on this sort of thing.” Erwin gives her a curt nod and she pushes off from the wall, walking quickly out of the room and closing the door behind her. Levi gives his friend a baleful look.

“You realize if she finds literally anything, she’ll be ranting about it for months.” The blonde shrugs and leans back in his chair.

“Eren, I hope you’ll understand why this can’t be allowed to leave this room.” The boy nods, still frowning, fingernails digging into his palms. “Good, dismissed.”

            The door creaks and clicks a second time, and with Eren gone, Erwin eyes his friend questioningly. “You know, unlikely as it seems, I have to agree with Hanji: he _does_ bear a certain resemblance.”

Levi takes another sip of tea. “I guess so. But I hardly think that’s a good enough reason to believe he’s a fucking time-traveler…”

Erwin frowns, his eyes drawn toward the sunlight glinting on his desk. “We’ve seen quite a few strange things, Levi, though perhaps none of this degree before. In all honesty, I wouldn’t put even something like this past the universe. Not now.”

 

-B-

 

            Eren stalks down the hall like some sort of distracted predatory animal, teeth gritted, and eyes downcast. He knows he shouldn’t be angry. All that he’s heard are the ravings of a delusional madman, and he has no reason to give them a second thought. Annie is and always would have been an enemy, whether he knew it or not. He’s convinced himself before, and he will again. To think anything else is to invite a swift descent into uselessness, and he refuses to be that way ever again.

            “Eren?” He draws up short; he can’t tell her anything, and quite frankly he doesn’t want to talk right now, to her or to anyone.

Still, she deserves a response. “Hey, Mikasa.”

            “Are you feeling alright?” She has that sharp-edged, bored tone in her voice: the one that means she already knows the answer to that question, and isn’t about to let him stew in whatever he’s found to angst over. He can feel all the anger bubbling under his skin and, with a supreme effort, keeps it locked there. He needs to shut down this conversation before he says something hurtful. It’s not her fault, none of it is.

            “I’m fine, Mikasa, just tired. I was thinking I’d maybe go take a nap.”

            It’s a flimsy excuse and they both know it. For one thing, Eren doesn’t take naps, and for anther… “The barracks are the other direction, Eren.” Her hands are folded across her chest; she’s forgiving when it comes to her brother, but she doesn’t like being lied to by anyone.

He sighs in that sharp sort of way, through his teeth, and she can see he’s holding something back. There’s that pang of hurt that always accompanies this sort of thing, the momentary question of trust between them. It’s dismissed just as swiftly as usual. They’re siblings in all but name and blood. If he refuses to tell her, then he has a good reason, and she will wait. She’s done so before and will do it again.

“Does this have something to do with that prisoner the others were talking about bringing in last night?” He looks at her in surprise, anger momentarily vanishing before returning through gritted teeth.

“I can’t talk about it. Commander’s orders.” She frowns, but nods, understanding to the last. Now that he’s said it, her momentary doubt seems foolish, reprehensible even. They both internally berate themselves, Mikasa for her traitorous doubts, and Eren for the continually evolving disaster that is his self-control. Neither knows what the other is thinking, but the shared pain hangs like a thread in the air between them, just as it has for five long years.

“Look, I’m sure you’ll find out later, but for now, I really can’t say anything.” She frowns, but nods again. A hand finds its way to Eren’s shoulder and Mikasa makes eye contact. Looking back into her, he can see that she’s steady and solid; everything he isn’t right now.

“Right, of course. If you need to find me, I’ll be in the practice range.” And without further preamble, she’s gone, walking down the hall at her usual nonchalantly brisk pace. He looks down the hall, the direction he had gone for days on end at one point. He had started on the path without even realizing it. He knows where he was headed, and the knowledge only makes him angrier with himself.

He turns on his heel and stalks back in the direction of the barracks. He’s had enough of the dungeons for today, enough for a lifetime.

 

-B-

 

            The silence in the cell is deafening, and Charles can’t help but wonder for the umpteenth time if being in this place is really all that much better than where he was before. Once again he’s behind bars. Once again, he’s restrained, more so, even. Once again, he’s being guarded. _‘And these ones don’t even have the common courtesy to be good-looking.’_

            He snickers a bit at his own joke, but clams up when one of the men in question shoots him a dirty look. He grins sheepishly back and the man turns his glare out towards the corridor with a derisive snort. _‘I have really got to get a handle on this thinking out loud thing.’_

            He leans his head back against the cold rock wall and stares at the ceiling. His eyes slowly trace every angle and imperfection in the stone he is buried under and he contemplates the fragility of even something so apparently solid, how easily this whole complex could come crumbling down on all of them. Unbidden, he recalls the rictus of fury on the boy who might one day become his father.

            _‘Not very likely considering his reaction to the idea.’_ The thought is a strange and unsettling one. Based purely on what he had seen of this young doppelganger of his father, it was looking more and more likely that he might simply never exist.

It’s another troubling inconsistency to add to the list. Charles knows his mother was originally an enemy agent, but he hadn’t ever heard much about that period of her life. She and his dad had dealt with the issue when she switched sides. It should have been long since resolved by now, months ago at the least.

_‘So why does he seem to hate her?’_

            The boy’s face had gone slack when Charles had finally explained his parentage, his mouth hanging open for a moment before beginning a short, furious tirade. He’s argued with his father quite a bit in his life. Eren Yeager respects those who stand up for themselves. Charles had to learn to do just that at a young age, or risk getting smothered.

 _‘Not that it helps much here.’_ He has no way of making his father come back. He has little to no proof of his claims beyond his word and his existence. For the umpteenth time he wishes his mother were here, at the very least as moral support. For the umpteenth time he waves away the impulse.

            _‘It wouldn’t actually be her anyway.’_

            Still, he wishes he could see her, if only to ask what she could have done to screw things up so completely. Annie Leonhardt and Eren Yeager are two parts of a whole. Charles’ parents love each other; it’s a fact of his life, his world. What could she have possibly done?

            ‘ _Why is everything here so wrong?’_


	3. Chapter 3

Charles’ mother did not usually cook. Contrary to what many might have deemed the norm, that had always been his father’s job, just as it was his mother’s job to maintain their tools, just as it was his to listen and learn, and everyone’s to take care of the miscellaneous cleaning and maintenance that inevitably built up around the house. He told another kid from the village of their strange arrangement when he was six, barely half a year after he learned about his powers. He was laughed at.

            He punched the kid in the face. The kid punched back. Both of them ran to their parents, and were swiftly reprimanded. Being the deviously calm person she was, his mother punished him by forcing him to apologize to the kid. Jeremy’s parents followed the lead, and before the week was out, they were best friends.

            It was good that they ended up getting along so well. Aunt Mikasa didn’t seem likely to have kids any time soon, and the other minors in the village were all infants, clearly unworthy of the attention of big boys like them. He’d never had an equal before. It felt good, natural. Was this what mom and dad felt all the time?

            Charles was almost seven, and therefore stupid: a show-off. So when they ran out to explore in the woods one day, he decided he wanted to share what he could do. He showed Jeremy how fast he could heal, told him about what he might be able to do when he grew up, how he would build himself a house out of diamonds, big enough that he’d never have to be small again.

            Barely a month later, when the men came with guns and axes, Jeremy died gasping in the mud as his life emptied out of his neck like a broken water pump. Charles was too shocked to resist as they bound him up and dragged him back to the road, bawling like a newborn.

_‘I told you, Charles: loose tongues get bitten. Every time.’_

 

-B-

 

            “So kid.” Hanji regards her prisoner curiously, flipping through the pages of a large, leather-bound volume. “According to His Holiness Andrew Antonius III, your very presence here should be an affront to the laws of nature, and a sure sign that the apocalypse is nigh, supposing of course that you _are_ from the future.” Charles snorts derisively, but doesn’t look away from the ceiling. He’s been staring alternately at it and the floor for the last hour or so.

            “Of course, he also thinks that diseases are caused by incorporeal demons called ‘horrorbaubles,’ so maybe he’s not the most _reliable_ source.” Despite her disappointment, she closes and puts down the tome carefully, adding it to a stack on her right.

            She cracks her neck, stretches her arms, and picks up another, smaller book, with a faded cover that might once have been a deep sort of green. The pages are yellowed with age. Hanji carefully flips the cover open.

            “Ooh, this one says it’s barely a century old! Youngest one I’ve seen all day.” Charles’ eyes drift downward and regard the book as Hanji flips open the first page. There’s an amused edge to his words as he cuts across her commentary.

“That one won’t tell you anything.” His visitor raises an eyebrow and locks eyes with him.

“Why do you say that?” The blonde smirks and leans forward.

“Because it’s fiction. You used to read it sometimes. Said it was ‘whimsically nonsensical.’” The woman’s eyes narrow and she glances across the first few sentences. The book snaps closed with a bit more force than is likely necessary, and she pockets it.

            “You really do seem to believe that you’re from the future.” Her gaze is hard, more serious than he’s yet seen this young doppelganger go. He smiles lightly, eyes returning to the ceiling.

“In all honesty, I’m not sure yet. For all that I know this might all be a ridiculously elaborate hallucination.” Hanji raises an eyebrow.

“You’re being held in a cell, chained to the floor, after losing a finger in a bar fight. How real can a hallucination get?” Charles shrugs, continuing to stare at the grey rock above him.

“Okay, so a tactile hallucination.” She cocks her head to the side, all traces of her previous seriousness fleeing in the wake of simple curiosity.

“I didn’t know there was such a thing.” Another shrug, but still no eye contact.

“I doubt it, honestly. Dad is always telling me not to believe everything I read…” He trails off, and finally returns his gaze to his visitor, any trace of good humor gone.

“Hanji, what happened?”

She blinks owlishly, not completely understanding what he’s asking. “To what?” His eyes have found hers and there is a quiet, belligerent anguish there, rooted and powerful. It intersects extremes of anger and sadness, and for a moment, Hanji can see Eren, talking about his mother, his motivation: the emotions that drive him. It’s different, but just as vehement, and just as deep-seated. She wonders at the ability some people have to show so much with a look.

“I grew up with my parents; I probably know them better than I know myself. For all the anger they have in them, they love each other, more than any other two people I’ve met. So how the fuck did my dad get to the point where the mention of my mother sends him into a tirade?”

Hanji looks away, running her hands through a few loose locks of hair and frowning. “Well, I’m no expert on the subject, but from what I’ve seen, it’s not the topic that set him off. Eren has a strange…” She hesitated, obviously choosing her words very carefully. “I suppose you could call it a suspension of judgment when it comes to that girl, which is actually quite remarkable, considering how he acts usually…”

She has her contemplative, connecting-the-dots face on now: understated, but on the verge of something more. “He doesn’t talk about her. He doesn’t talk about any of the three very often, but her especially.”

“So what you’re saying is you don’t know.” There’s the beginnings of despair in his voice despite the calm he’s managing to maintain.

“What I’m saying is that she was the first in a series of betrayals, and his world only got less defined from there. Eren is… focused. And his sense of right and wrong was definitive until just recently… I don’t think he took the challenge to that very well.”

He looks at her appraisingly, frowning. “Since when are you a psychoanalyst?” She blinks at him, caught off guard by the question.

“Is that what it’s called? I’ve been doing a lot of reading on behavior, but none of the sources used that word.” He shrugs.

“I think my mom called it that at some point. Not sure, really. Doesn’t exactly come up in casual conversation that often, does it?” Hanji sighs, looking the boy in front of her up and down. She hates to admit it, but every passing second is convincing her more of the validity of his story. It’s not even that he’s presenting evidence or anything. He just seems so matter of fact.

“Look, Charles.” He seems momentarily surprised by her use of his name, but recovers almost too fast to be sure. “I have no idea what might have happened wherever you come from, but here, your mother killed a lot of people, including the Special Operations squad, right in front of your father. If I were you, I’d take the fact he doesn’t outright hate her as a blessing.”

It’s a long time before he speaks again. He’s looking down at the floor again, hair shading his face from her view, and when he finally does, it’s so quiet she has to ask him to repeat the question.

“Where is she, then?” He sounds almost broken now, and Hanji has to beat back guilt as she responds.

“I’m not allowed to tell you that.” He looks up, and his face is like a crumbling stone, utterly blank, but visibly on the verge of collapse.

“Is she at least alive?” His voice is quavering. Hanji has to spend a solid moment deciding how best to answer that particular question.

“We’re, ah, actually not sure…” His eyes narrow ever so slightly.

“Is she petrified in a giant crystal?” She doesn’t even have to respond; her face does all the talking for her. Her question isn’t even out of her mouth before he starts explaining, a smile spreading across his face all the while.

“It’s a sort of panic button; they taught me how to do it maybe a year after I cut my finger off. The idea is to make yourself effectively untouchable, and hard to transport at the same time, especially if they’re trying to be inconspicuous. If you take me to her, I can get her out of it.”

 

-B-

 

            Jean looked on as Hanji tore down the hall, a seemingly random piece of rock clasped in her hand, and a dangerously excited grin on her face. “Oh, that can’t be good.”

            It’s been a surprisingly quiet day, and he had just been about to go get some lunch. Nothing seems particularly out of the ordinary or worrisome beyond the usual.

            In other words, it’s far past time for something to go terribly, terribly wrong.

           

 

-B-

 

            “Oh, fuck that.” Hanji glares at Levi for a second before turning back to the as-yet silent Irwin.

            “I tested it. I gave him a shard from the wall. LOOK, he made it crumble into dust without even squeezing.” The squad leader held up a small back and held it open for them to look inside. At the bottom they could see a fine powder, like flour almost.

“It’s not as though we can’t take precautions! She’s been going without sunlight and food for months now; she’ll be drained. With a little careful planning, we should be able to get her out, restrain her, and bring her to a cell for questioning.” Her commander considers her for a moment. Most of his face is hidden behind his hand. He resettles in his chair, and pulls his arm away from his desk, leaning back.

            “You are not to undertake this lightly, Hanji. You’ll take her to a forested area, and keep her covered with a tarp for the duration of the journey. The Special Operations Squad will accompany you. Charles is to be kept restrained and under guard at all times. If he at any point attempts to escape, he is to be killed on the spot. You have two days to assemble necessary personnel and supplies for the trip. Levi, your squad is your responsibility.” Hanji nods, obviously restraining a smile, and pulls a slapdash sort of salute before rushing out of the room.

            “Are you out of your mind, Erwin?” The man shakes his head and leans forward in his chair, cradling his face with his remaining hand.

            “This is an opportunity we can’t afford to miss, Levi. Leonhardt is our best hope for answers about our enemies outside the walls.” Levi snorts, and crosses his arms defiantly, glaring pointedly.

            “She’s also fucking deadly. I can take her out if I need to, but I can’t guarantee that all the kids will make it out alive if she manages to shift.” Erwin meets Levi’s eyes, doing his best to hide the weariness that tugs at his eyes.

            “Levi, I have never pretended that anything we do is risk-free, and I won’t start now. If the situation becomes untenable, you are to eliminate the threat by any means necessary.” Levi holds his friend’s gaze for a few moments, and even when he acquiesces, his expression never softens.

            “Fine. But if this goes wrong, it’s on your head, Erwin.” He stalks out of the room, closing the door just carefully enough that it didn’t really count as a slam. Erwin sinks back into his chair and sighs.


End file.
